


Anger & Hope

by hedarakoon



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedarakoon/pseuds/hedarakoon
Summary: Bridget Westfall once told Franky she was anger and hope all over. Franky's response was that there was no hope. However things change, perspectives shift, and eventually Franky is able to see the hope Bridget had seen in her that day. But what lead to and beyond that point in her life?This is just a vast series of one shots, all unrelated, but related at the same time.More characters/relationships may be added as I go along. I didn't want to lead anyone on until there really are pieces of those characters/relationships.I chose not to post archive warnings, but I will make sure to put ALL Trigger Warnings at the beginning of each chapter if they apply.Also as a small disclaimer, I'm American so some of the vocabulary may be a bit off. I do role-play as Franky and my Bridget is Australian, so I have picked up on some bits, but I promise I'm not perfect with the Aussie lingo.





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Mentions of Past Child Abuse

Scar.  
[Skär] A mark left by a healed wound, sore, or burn.  
A lasting aftereffect of trouble, especially a lasting psychological injury resulting from suffering or trauma.  
Any blemish remaining as a trace of or resulting from injury or use.  
  
To say Franky Doyle had many scars would be an understatement. Both physical and psychological they had plagued her at one point in time.  
  
She had the usual childhood scars; a skinned knee which she’d picked at the scab until it eventually scarred; a jagged scar up the inside of her arm from a day when she’d been climbing a tree and slipped, catching her arm on a broken branch; a few that were either from bug bites or when she’d gotten the chicken pox at age four, she didn’t remember which were which anymore.  
  
And then she had those that told the tale of five years worth of prison fights. A scar that faded into the flaming dice on her left breast from a time she’d pissed Jacs off, and not for the first time. A scar to her abdomen from an upset user who’d deciding a shiv was the best way to get what she wanted. And of course the small little lines here and there, turned white and barely visible with time, from countless fights with Jacs or Cindy Lou or Bea or any of their crews.  
  
But it wasn’t any of those that bothered Franky Doyle. Those had stories she could tell, stories she didn’t really care if others knew. Everyone was a child at one point. Everyone knew she was a former prisoner. It was common sense or common knowledge to be able to explain away those scars.  
  
The scars that bothered her were those that she covered. Covered with hundreds of dollars in expensive art work. Art work that covered and hid the stories of years worth of child abuse sustained at the hands of her mother. It was almost as if she could pretend they weren’t there. As if the bumps to the skin were the work of a needle jabbing the skin hundreds of thousands of times.  
  
She could pretend to forget, ignore the memories and scars to the best of her ability. That was until someone asked questions. And no one asked questions, because no one knew unless one could feel them. Surely Bridget knew. Bridget would have known even before she’d ever touched Franky, even before Franky opened up about what she’d been through as a child. Bridget had seen her file. But Bridget never asked and for that Franky was thankful.  
  
So she would continue pretending they weren’t there, until one day while watching a movie with Tess (Secret Life of Pets, it was her favorite, the four year old finding it hilarious that her sister was dating someone named after a dog). Franky paid Tessa no mind as the toddler traced one of her tiny fingers over the tattoos gracing her left arm. She paid her no mind until little fingers stilled over a star on her forearm. Blue eyes turned to the younger brunette as the tiny version of herself looked up with a quick ‘What’s that?’ Blurted from her mouth as she prodded at a scar hidden behind black and red ink. Franky pulled her arm away gently, folding both arms over her middle. ‘Nothin, watch your show.’ Was her simple reply, wincing slightly at the snappish edge to her tone.   
  
Tess didn't seem to notice and happily turned her attention back to the movie playing on the television, forgetting quickly about the patch of scars there that Franky knew matched the much larger patch that spread from ribs past her hip on her left side. Tess didn’t know and didn’t understand, nor did Franky ever want her too. Her sister was too innocent and Franky would do whatever was needed to keep her that way. Tess didn’t deserve to know the horrors of the life Franky had lived.  
  
Tess didn’t need to know that there were possibly a hundred more scars just like that one hidden behind the pink and brown ink that scaled her left side in the form of cherry blossoms. The ones on her forearm were a miss on her mother’s part. Franky’d tried to fight her mother off at ten or eleven years old, but the cigarette had simply burned into the flesh of her arm rather than the skin of her side. Franky hadn’t been bluffing when she told her father she remembered exactly the way it felt to have one’s skin melted away under the burning tip of a ciggy, or the way flesh smelt as it burned. Those exact remembrances were what flashed to mind when Tess asked. ‘Want an ice lolly, Tess?’ She had asked in an attempt distract herself from the thoughts running through her mind, her protective emotional walls momentarily broken down. Franky got up even before her sister mumbled her agreement amongst giggles as something apparently funny happened on the screen.  
  
Franky stood in the kitchen, hands pressed into the edge of the counter, arms straight out, as she watched Tess in the living room. With the scent of burned flesh still dancing around her mind, she thought to herself that she was happy her baby sister would never have to go through what she did. And God help the person that even thought about hurting the tiny brunette, for there was nothing more precious to Franky Doyle than those she who were family, than the few people she trusted and loved with her whole heart. 


	2. I'm Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of Sexual Assault
> 
> An inner look at Franky's thoughts leading up to, during and after the scene in her cell with Bridget from S5E3.

Pulling away. Withdrawing. Building walls and distance. Hateful words. Lies. They were all coping mechanisms for Franky Doyle. Coping mechanisms to keep herself safe. But this time they had been turned around. Instead of keeping herself safe, she was trying to keep someone else safe. As if that would make things better. 

But Franky had seen what could happen. What would happen if you crossed Joan Ferguson. And boy did she know she had crossed Joan Ferguson plenty. She would tear you down 

 And she didn't want to end up like Bea, nor did she want her girlfriend to end up like Allie. She would kill if someone even touched Bridget in a harmful way. And she had seen it starting already. She knew Joan knew about her and Bridget and she couldn't let Bridget get hurt because of her. 

So she had pushed. And pushed. And pushed. But to no avail. Bridget had refused to stand down. She refused to back off. She continued to schedule Franky every day and the screws made sure she went to each and every appointment. And she knew everyone was beginning to catch on, if they hadn't from her first stint at Wentworth. And so she pushed even further, testing every limit she knew Bridget had. She lied and she evaded and faked ill, anything to get out of the sessions. Anything to put Bridget at a distance. 

But then Bridget had come to her cell insisting they have a counseling session. And so she pushed again. Calling Bridget out on not believing her, even though they both knew that was a lie. Claiming she belonged behind bars, another lie. She had physically shoved Bridget away when the blonde had tried to soothe her, to comfort her. And then she had crossed a line she had never wanted too. She had been the one to hurt Bridget. She had attacked the love of her life in an act of pure desperation, desperation to keep the woman away. 

But still Bridget claimed she hadn't pushed her away. But by god, she had hurt her. And Franky could see it in her expression, in the dampness in her eyes, in the venom in her words. And boy did those words hurt. 

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

The words bounced around Franky's head that night. She had let the tears flow when Bridget left her cell. She had slammed the door to her cell shut in frustration, not with Bridget, never with Bridget, but with herself. She hadn't meant to hurt Bridget. Fuck she hadn't been thinking. She had been desperate to push Bridget away, to protect her, she had never meant to cross the line. She had never meant to yank Bridget's shirt open, never meant to grope at her as if the woman was an object. Fuck, Franky hadn't meant to cross that line. She had been working on pure instinct, on old patterns she had thought she had broken,  but that was no excuse. 

The tears had flowed until they stopped. Until she could cry no longer. But her body continued to heave with silent and broken sobs. She had hurt Bridget. The one person who had stood by her through thick and thin. Fuck, from the beginning Bridget had been different. She hadn't even known Franky five minutes and she was jumping through hoops to get Vera to drop charges against Franky. And she had stuck by her side through so much more. Bridget was Franky's world and she had just hurt her world. She had done the very thing she was trying to protect the psychologist from. 

"Fuck." It was a broken sob uttered as her fist made contact with the wall. She stared at the wall, the spot her first had just been. Numb. She didn't feel the pain in her fist even as she curled and uncurled her fingers time and time again, watching blood form over the broken knuckles. Her body was numb, but god did her heart hurt. 

'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'

The words repeated again in her mind. Coming to the forefront of her riddled thoughts. She was replaying everything in her mind from the time Bridget approached her in the hallway for the very first time. Hell, she had known then that Bridget was something different, someone special. She just hadn't known the depth she would eventually fall for the woman. 

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

The stricken look on Bridget's face flashed before closed eyes. "I'm sorry." Franky let the words out with a shuddered breath. And sorry she was. So sorry. She wanted nothing more than to apologize, to pull Bridget into her arms, hold her close and assure the blonde she loved her and hadn't meant it. But she didn't even know if that would be possible anymore. She didn't know if Bridget would even let her get close enough to apologize. Her lover had said she had failed at pushing her away, but Franky wasn't so sure of that. 

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

"Stop!" Franky shouted, the heels of her hands pressing against her closed eyes. She rubbed and tried to rid herself of the image of her lover, shirt ripped open, on the verge of tears. But the image wouldn't go away. And the words wouldn't stop repeating. 

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

_'You wanna hurt me, hmm? Well congratulations, Baby.'_

"Fuck, I'm sorry, baby." She sobbed. "I'm sorry." She whispered and tears slipped from her eyes again. She had thought she was done with the tears, but it seemed she wasn't. She had royally fucked up this time and she wasn't sure how she would fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading comments and feedback from my readers, so don't be afraid!   
> Also, if you have any prompts, or things you'd like to see, don't be afraid to let me know!


	3. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible during or post-season 6 scenario. How I hope everything pans out, but have little faith in it doing as such. 
> 
> This chapter and the next will kind of go together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings this time.

Franky had known from the moment ‘we’re here to formally charge you with the murder of Iman Ferrah’ fell from the detective’s mouth, that they wouldn’t be able to build a sound enough case. It was a case of he said, she said, where both parties were female. It was her word against Ferguson’s and Ferguson’s word wouldn’t hold up in court any better than Franky’s would. So it had been Pennisi’s murder she’d focused her efforts on clearing her name of. 

And God had she hit the mother load. She hadn’t expected to find much at Iman’s but she knew it was her best bet. So when she’d found the box of pictures haphazardly hidden under a pile of clothing, she should have felt ecstatic. Sitting in the train that evening, the light of a the tiny torch she’d managed to snag illuminating the pictures, she knew she was in a dilemma. One picture alone cleared her name; pictured was Franky outside the courthouse, lifting the lid on a dumpster and dropping the gun. That proved her story that she’d dumped the gun. There were hundreds of pictures, proving her story that Pennisi had been stalking her. 

But what bothered her was the fact there were plenty of pictures of her and Bridget; out to eat, at their house, sleeping, making love, at St Kilda, out at the vineyards… How far had he followed them? The enormity of it astounded her. She knew if she left these pictures out, if it was found she was withholding evidence, the police would use that against her (as if being an escaped convict wasn’t enough to hold against her). She knew they’d prove she’d broken parole, but that wasn’t what she was worried about. There was a code of ethics Bridget had to abide by. A code of ethics that said a minimum two years must last between the ending of the patient-psychologist relationship and the start of an intimate relationship. She’d only known Bridget just over two years. 

A call to Bridget had been made on the burner mobile she’d bought the day after she’d escaped. She knew it was risky, an unknown number would draw suspicion if the police subpoenaed her phone records. But she didn’t know what to do and Bridget had always been her voice of reason. Not to mention the fact, she didn’t want to spring this on her girl. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later saw Franky hanging up, puffing her cheeks out and letting the breath of air be released. Bridget told her she needed to take all the pictures to the police, she would deal with her own consequences. 

That didn’t mean Franky didn’t feel bad about it as she walked into the police station the following morning, followed by Imogen whom she’d called immediately after Bridget. Franky was not naive enough to believe if she went into this alone that evidence wouldn’t mysteriously disappear. The police were so sure she’d done Mike in, so close to closing the case that she doubted they’d bat an eye as they destroyed what she handed over. Her lawyer and boss wasn’t pleased to hear her on the other end of the unknown number, wasn’t pleased that she’d managed to escape, but she hadn’t seemed surprised on the other side of the phone. Imogen had known Franky was determined to prove her innocence at any cost. 

 

The police had pounced, weapons drawn the second Franky came into view of the police station. She’d raised her hands, showing she was unharmed, eyes searching frantically until they spotted Imogen’s form just inside the police station. She swallowed and moved across the street, hands still raised, surrendering herself back into police custody. 

To the credit of the officers, and at Imogen’s insistence, the police actually seemed to be ready to listen. They actually seemed ready to believe her where the detectives who visited her at Wentworth didn’t seem ready to believe a thing she said, having already labeled her ‘Mike Pennisi’s murderer’ before they had even met her. She had handed over the bag she’d stolen from Iman’s, filled to stuffed with pictures and the calendar she’d found which also detailed her movements and when she’d seen Pennisi. It had seemed Iman was doing some stalking of her own. 

Franky sat across an interview table from the officers, her left hand cuffed to the table as if she’d run again when she’d just handed herself over. They were going through the images, which in and of itself made her uncomfortable. She had little doubt what they were looking at when one or the other would pause over a picture and it took everything in the brunette not to let her anger get the best of her. She hated knowing these men were getting eye fulls of her girlfriend, but there was nothing she could do to keep them from doing as such. 

“Hey, get a look at this.” One of the police officers muttered, dropping a picture onto the table and passing it to his partner who chuckled as he picked it up. The picture depicted a nearly naked Bridget sprawled across the dining room table where Franky’d deposited her almost as soon as she’d walked in the door, all that could be seen of Franky was a mop of dark hair between her lover’s legs and one arm wrapped around her lover’s leg. 

“I think you’ve seen enough, officers.” Imogen cut in, sensing Franky’s rising anger, before Franky herself could do or say anything. Franky dug her nails into the palm of her hand, her eyes burning with rage. Fuck them, she thought. “We aren’t here for you to ogle my client and her partner.” Imogen continued, glancing at Franky before turning aged eyes onto the detectives. “I do believe there is a group of pictures in there that proves my Miss Doyle did drop the gun, as she has claimed to have done. There’s also ample enough pictures to conclude that Mike Pennisi was indeed stalking my client. And before you claim you have no idea where these images came from, I am sure you can and already plan to test the images for finger prints.” Imogen’s voice left no room for arguing and Franky was pleased to see the detectives set the photos in a pile and arrange them neatly with a picture of just herself on the top of the pile. 

The police did their best during their interview to irritate Franky. They wanted to see how far they could push her, how far she’d allow them to go before lashing out at them. But Franky’s self control had improved ten fold in the last two years and though she wanted to punch one or both of them, she didn’t. Imogen helped, by insisting they stay on topic or that things weren’t relevant. But to say Franky was fuming, her blood boiling, by the time Imogen was asked to leave and she was put in an on site cell for the night, well that was quite possibly an understatement. She was taken back to Wentworth the following morning and quickly thrown in the slot.

 

Nearly two months had passed since she’d turned herself in, and today was her court date. Both charges of murder had been dropped. Pennisi’s on the fact reasonable doubt was imminent. She had clearly dropped the gun and either Pennisi or Iman knew where it had been. And without Ferguson around, Mercado had no longer been so willing to lag to the police. With no other proof, the police were unable to continue the charge of Iman’s death against Franky. So it all came down to her breach of parole and the charge for escaping prison. She could serve up to a year for both. 

“How do you plead?” The judge questioned, already knowing the answer as it’d been given to him prior to the start of court.  
Franky sat next to Imogen during the proceedings. She’d plead guilty to both charges, knowing it was better than taking it to trial. There was evidence enough to support the breach of parole, pictures showing her at Bridget’s well past curfew. And she couldn’t very well deny the fact she’d escaped.

“Guilty, your honor.” She stated, standing from her place beside her lawyer. 

“And can you tell the court the details of the escape and breach of parole?” 

Franky took a deep breath, anticipating this. She had to tell what she’d done to make sure the details lined up. “ Approximately, uh… Approximately three weeks after my release from prison, I began staying with my partner, Bridget Westfall, on a regular basis. I would spend the night. And about a month later I moved the majority of my belongings from my bedsit into her house. So I was not living at my registered address and prior to moving in with her, I broke curfew a couple nights a week.” She could feel Bridget’s eyes on her from the back of the court room. It was the complete truth. God, she hoped she could go home with her girl. She just wanted to hold Bridget. “And uh, on the night of September 12th, I snuck out of my unit after count. I had been working with the garden unit and knew we had a shipment of garden planters leaving that evening. So I had previously made sure to leave one of the boxes open and empty. I hid in this box and waited for the shipment to be picked up. When it arrived at its destination and the boxes were left for the night, I used a pair of medical scissors that I’d stolen from Medical and pried the staples out. I then fled the warehouse and went in search of evidence to clear my name.” 

The judge nodded, listening to her telling of events. “Does this confession satisfy the prosecutions needs?” 

“Yes your honor.” The prosector stated and Franky sat down.

“Mr. Jones, you wished to make a statement?” Franky couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at her parole officer, wondering what he’d say. She found herself chewing the inside of her cheek nervously. Honestly, it would depend on his statement on whether she served time, more than likely.

 

“Miss Doyle has been a model parolee. With the exception of staying at an unregistered address, she has done nothing to warrant my dismissal of her as a parolee. She has gained and sustained a stable job, which her employer has agreed to reinstate should she be released again. She has never returned a positive drug test, nor seemed as if she has ever been on any illegal substances. I recommend no further time added for the breach of parole and a continuation of her parole, as long as she verifies her new address with me upon release.” Her parole officer had stated, speaking nothing but praises. 

“Miss Doyle, I can honestly say I am surprised.” The judge began, looking down the bridge of his nose at the brunette. 

Just get on with it, Franky thought to herself. She knew she’d have at most three months to serve and that was if the judge decided to be a prick about things. Franky honestly hoped he didn’t. She wanted to go home. She wanted to return to her girl and hold her close. She wanted to make sure everything was okay between them, she wanted to be able to love her girl without prying eyes watching.

“Your officer doesn’t wish to pursue the breach of parole.” Which Franky knew was ultimately up to him and not the court or prosecutor until her parole officer decided to pursue such charges. “You maximum sentence for escape in the second degree would be one year.” Once again, news Franky already knew. News Franky had prepared Bridget for during one of her many visits to see Franky in the two months since she’d turned herself back in. “One year, twelve months, of which you’ve wrongfully served nine months for dropped charges.” He paused seeming to contemplate his next words carefully. “Why, Miss Doyle, I do believe nine months is sufficient for the single charge.”

Franky felt her heart stutter. Did she hear him right? The tiny gasp she heard from three or four rows behind her told her nothing. Bridget could be gasping in happiness or upset, Franky couldn’t know without looking at her girl. 

“See that you do register a correct address with your parole officer.” The judge continued, oblivious to the internal worrying going on within Franky. “You are to return to Wentworth to be processed out to the system and then free to go.” 

Franky released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and stood up as the judge did so. 

“Court i adjourned.” The sound of a gavel.

Franky turned to Imogen and hugged her, thankful to be free of this nightmare. The lawyer seemed a bit stunned, but returned the hug moments later. 

“Oh, and Miss Doyle.” The judge spoke, causing Franky to look back at the man. “I hope to never see you in my court room again, unless it’s where your counsel stands.” 

Franky could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile grace the older man’s lips. Imogen had said she knew the judge and hoped that would play in their favor. Perhaps he had paid her file special attention and seen the note stating she was studying law and working as a paralegal. 

“Yes, your honor.” She murmured, barely above a whisper just as the guard from Wentworth came to retrieve her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do live for your comments! 
> 
> If you have anything you'd like to see prompt wise, let me know! I'm working on a list of prompts to keep things publishing regularly.


	4. You Are a Good Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget can't sleep and the reason is obvious, an absence from her bed. Why hasn't Franky come to join her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of sexual abuse, attempted rape and sexual abuse as a child. Nothing is in detail.

Bridget had gone to bed over an hour ago. But she hadn’t slept. She’d tossed and turned, waiting for Franky to join her. She hadn’t slept well for the past six months, not since her girl had found herself the victim of Iman’s framing. Tonight, she had hoped that would change. Franky was home. Franky was free again and yet it felt as if her girl were avoiding her. Franky had been quiet from the moment Bridget had picked her up from Wentworth from her processing out. It was strange, but the psychologist had attributed it to the shock of being a free woman again.

But now at near one in the morning, Bridget was beginning to second guess herself. The red LED display on her alarm clock glared at her as the minutes dragged on. 12:52 A.M. 12:53 A.M. 12:54 A.M. Bridget huffed and threw the down duvet and cotton sheets to the side. She pushed herself into a seated position and stared at the crack she’d left in the door. She could see a flickering light, telling her Franky still had the television on. 

Bridget swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. Grabbing her robe, she tied it closed around her waist and made her way out of the bedroom. Her bare feet padded silently against the hard wood floor, down the hallway and into the living room. She watched Franky quietly from behind the lounge.

Franky’s back was to Bridget, her hands folded in her lap while she picked at her cuticles. Bridget recognized it as a sign of distress, a nervous habit she had noticed on more than one occasion. There was a tension to the brunette’s shoulders. And though the telly was on, Franky’s head was tilted to far to be looking at the screen, instead her focus seemed to be on a blank wall by the window. The sight caused Bridget’s heart to ache. She knew there was something bothering Franky and she hated that for whatever reason she hadn’t felt comfortable coming to talk to Bridget.

Bridget let her shoulders slump forward slightly. She stepped towards Franky, around the lounge until she was knelt in front of the younger woman. “Hey…” Bridget whispered, placing her hands on either side of the brunette’s legs on the lounge to steady herself. Franky didn’t respond at first. “Hey, Franky.” Still no response. “Francesca.” The psychologist uttered after another moment. The look that flashed at her caused her to flinch slightly, the heat of it should have burned. But it immediately softened when Franky realized who was speaking. “Why haven’t you come to bed? Are you okay?” And that’s when Bridget saw it, something inside of Franky breaking down. Her girl’s eyes watered and Bridget clucked gently, reaching a hand up to gently touch Franky’s cheek. “You can talk to me, darling.” She whispered, moving from her crouched position to sit on the couch beside the brunette.

“You want me to come to bed?” The cracking of the paralegal’s voice broke the blonde’s heart. Something was indeed eating away at her love and she needed to figure out what it was. 

“Of course I would, darling. Why wouldn’t I?” Bridget’s voice was calm.

Normally Franky would have found that soothing, but not tonight. Her mind was racing a mile a minute, flashing scenes behind her eyelids every time she blinked. Bridget in her cell that day she’d crossed the line and attacked the woman she’d loved. The Waldorf man in the storage shed as he tried to rape her. The foster father who had raped her at sixteen. And the foster brother who’d been the first to touch her, molesting her from twelve to thirteen while his parents turned a blind eye. Franky knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a sexual attack, and she still didn’t know why she’d thought it was okay to lash out at Bridget that way. She had never attacked another woman to such an extent, but damn it she’d been real damn close. Franky looked away from Bridget, keeping her arms firmly in her lap though they itched to wrap around the blonde. She wanted to turn back time. She wanted to erase that smear to their relationship.

“Hey…” Bridget didn’t like this evasive side of Franky. “Babe, what’s wrong?” She questioned, trying again to get her girl to speak.

“Why do you want me to come to bed? I…” She could see Franky fighting to keep from breaking down as the brunette looked at her. “I tried… no I did…” And Franky paused again, Bridget could see a tear slip down her cheek before she hastily looked away again. “I attacked you and… I was gonna…”

“No you weren’t.” Bridget was quick to stop the train of though. She knew exactly where this was going now and felt naive for not putting the pieces together already. She knew this was going to be a subject that had to be breached at some point, she just hadn’t expected it so soon. But she really shouldn’t be surprised. Franky had a way of pushing things to the side until they just exploded.

“But, I was Gidge. I’m not a good person. I wasn’t gonna stop.” It was nearly a sob, the last few words.

Bridget frowned as she wrapped her arms around the brunette and pulled her into her chest. She sighed gently as one hand cupped the opposite side of her lover’s head. “We are not going to start down that road again Francesca.” She knew Franky didn’t like her given name, but it was a way to make sure the brunette was listening to her. “You are a good person. I’d even go to say a wonderfully amazing and loving woman.” She pressed a kiss into dark locked turned black in the near darkness of the living room. “You wouldn’t have hurt me, I do believe that.” 

“But I did hurt you…” Came the whispered response of the brunette in her arms.

Bridget merely shushed the woman, running her fingers through brunette locks. “You did, but I’ve already forgiven you baby girl.” Bridget murmured, shifting on the couch to be able to pull Franky further into her hold. “If you have really meant to… to rape me, I wouldn’t have been able to stop you Franky. If you hadn’t wanted to stop, you wouldn’t have.” Franky had a over ten cenimeters on her and at the time probably a good ten kilos as well, though Bridget would wager to guess she weighed more than the skinny woman in her arms now. Bridget knew she wouldn’t have been able to stop Franky if her intentions had been anything but pushing her away. Franky had been trying to scare Bridget, not hurt her.

Franky seemed to be calming, but Bridget could still sense a hesitance to her. “Why’d you forgive me? That’s unforgivable.” And in the brunette’s mind it was. Had she forgiven any of the men who’d done or attempted to do the same to her? No, she hadn’t and she wouldn’t. 

“Because, baby girl, I knew you wouldn’t have. I knew you didn’t mean it. You were scared.” Bridget soothed, moving their bodies so that she laid across the back of the couch, pulling Franky into her front. It was rare that she was the big spoon, but she knew Franky needed the comforting. “But you wouldn’t have followed through with the attack.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her girl’s head.

“How did you know that though?”

“That’s a story for another time.” Bridget whispered in response. She could tell Franky was dozing off. Her emotional break down crashing around her now that Bridget had managed to sooth her. Bridget didn’t want to dig up her own past, especially when she knew that past would only rile her lover up again. “Get some rest, gorgeous.” Bridget whispered, hoping they would be able to start off on a better foot the next morning.

Ten minutes later Bridget found her eyes getting heavy, her breathing slowing to match that of the brunette snuggled into her front. She’d probably wake up with a sore neck, but it’d be worth it if it meant she had been able to calm Franky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love to hear feed back!


	5. Athena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dog follows Franky home.
> 
>  
> 
> Pure fluff. Definitely inspired by Nic's dog Chula who is adorable!

Franky slowed as she came towards the final turn of their block. It was a Saturday morning and as such, she’d gone for her daily run a bit later than usual. The sun was higher and the temperature was warmer. The brunette was sweating as she came to a brief stop at the corner of Madison and Elroy to catch her breath. She lifted the hem of her tank top to wipe her forehead, careful not to flash Bridget’s mostly elderly neighbors as she did so. She tossed a glance around her before continuing down Elroy, towards home.

She was nearly half way down the block when she realized the panting she was hearing was her own labored breaths. She glanced to her side and down. “Hey shoo.” She waved at the small dog. A puppy, she realized quickly. “Go home.” She shooed again when the animal sat at her feet and looked up at her. She stared at the brown dog, willing it to move as if thought alone could compel the creature to go away. Bridget had a cat, there was no way she’d let her have a cat. Plus the pretty pitty had to belong to someone.

When she realized the dog wasn’t going anywhere, she knelt down and scruffed the animal’s neck. “What’s your name, pretty?” She cooed, not even realizing the tone of her voice had changed. She loved dogs, but hadn’t had one since she was fifteen or sixteen and even then it hadn’t been her’s. It was her foster family’s dog. “Where’d you come from, you gotta belong somewhere.” The dog merely cocked it’s head and gave a whine before laying down at her feet.

Franky heaved a sigh, throwing a quick glance around herself once more. Surely someone would come to claim the dog. But, she realized, the puppy had no collar and no leash, which meant she had no tags. “I gotta go girl, and you need to go home.” She instructed as if that would make the dog do her bidding. Franky shrugged and stood up. The dog did too, her tail quickly wagging. “No, go home.” Franky commanded and turned on her heel to continue on her way home.

Her walking turned to jogging which turned to running in an attempt to convince the dog to stop following her. But each time her speed increased so did the puppy’s. Franky sighed in frustration when she came to the house and the dog followed. “No, you have to go home. Shoo. Gidge won’t let you stay.” She waved at the dog and turned to open the door. The puppy sat and stared at her as she slipped into the house. Franky frowned when she heard the whine the puppy emitted, but she tried to ignore it. Bridget had run to the grocery and so Franky took a quick shower before starting on a late breakfast for them.

She was working away in the kitchen; bacon frying, eggs poaching and homemade cinnamon rolls baking, when she heard the yelp from the front porch quickly followed by a pitiful cry. Franky frowned and reached for the remote to the sound system, turning it on in an attempt to drown out the sounds of the puppy. But the dog only cried louder. So Franky turned the bacon over and moved to the from door.

“Fine, you can come in, but just for some water. You gotta scram before Gidge gets home.” She told the brown furry creature and opened the screen door to let it inside the house. It immediately went about sniffing and Franky returned to the kitchen to fill one of her smaller mixing bowls with water. She sat it down and smiled as the puppy came scampering across the hardwood floor, slipping as it tried unsuccessfully to stop itself. Franky couldn’t help but laugh softly until the smell of something burning alerted her to the fact she’d left the bacon on the stove. “Fuck.” She snapped at herself and quickly turned to the stove. She tried quickly to salvage the bacon.

It was burnt nearly black and Franky groaned. She set the pieces of fatty meat on the plate to cool before she’d toss them in a bin. It’d keep them from melting the plastic. But she quickly found she had a begging animal at her feet. “I really shouldn’t.” She told the puppy, eyeing it before giving in to the adorable puppy eyes. Franky reached for the burnt pieces of bacon and dropped them for the puppy to scarf down.

Franky was back to cooking breakfast, the eggs pulled and set aside, the bacon done and the cinnamon rolls cooling on a cooling rack. She was slicing fruit when she heard a loud meow and then a scittering of paws followed by a crash of something breaking. Franky startled, nicking her finger. “Damn it.” She huffed, her index finger immediately finding it’s way into her mouth. Within seconds the puppy came sliding through the living room obviously in pursuit of the senior cat who much preferred Bridget to Franky. Franky couldn’t help but chuckle despite the sharp pain in her finger.

“Hey!” She shouted once she had her wits about her again. Jaq, the fat old Russian blue, raced up his cat tree faster than Franky ever remembered him moving. The puppy sat at the base whining as Jaq hissed and growled. At least the chase seemed to be done for now. She sighed as she went in search of what had broken.

Finding a vase in the dining room smashed to bits, Franky groaned. She knew Bridget would notice it missing, but was still quick to clean it up.

 

* * *

 

Some twenty minutes later, Franky had decided she was going to keep the puppy. She’d just have to work her charm on Bridget. The vase had been cleaned up, Jaq was back to lounging across the couch and the dog, she’d named Athena, was chasing bugs around the back yard.

Franky heard the front door open. “Hey babe!” An all too familiar voice called. Franky smiled brightly as she moved around the island and towards the front door to help her lover with the groceries. “Here let me take those.” Franky offered, taking several of the bags off of the blonde. She didn’t often send Bridget to the grocery alone, preferring to pick her own produce, but the psychologist had insisted Franky stay in bed and Franky wasn’t about to protest when Bridget had gotten up at just after seven in the morning.

“Mmm, I smell something delicious.” Bridget called, following after the paralegal. “I see something delicious too.” The second comment earned Bridget a bright smile and a wink.

“Maybe breakfast and dessert is in order.” The brunette snarked.

 

* * *

 

They were putting away groceries when Bridget froze, hand reaching for a cabinet to put away a bottle of nutmeg Franky had requested. Her eyes were averted to the side, staring out the back patio window.

Franky who had forgotten Athena was out there, grew worried by the sudden stillness in her girl. She moved behind the blonde, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her shoulder. “What’s the matter, Gidge?” She murmured, eyes following her girl’s line of sight to see the brown pit bull chasing a butterfly in leaps and bounds.

“What is that Francesca?” Came the stern words of the psychologist.

"A dog." Franky answered innocently as if that weren't obviously.

The glare her girl shot her told her she didn't find it as funny.

Franky let go of Bridget and shrugged her shoulder, smiling as innocently as she could manage. “She followed me home, Gidge. I couldn’t tell her no.” She had tried really darn hard to tell the dog no, even going as far as ignoring her on the front porch until she found it just too pitiful to continue.

“We are not keeping a dog, Franky.”

“But, Gidge…” The paralegal found herself whining. “Please! She doesn’t seem to have a home. And she’s just a little baby.”

“Franky… this is… no.” Bridget had turned to face the younger woman. “We have Jaq, he’s enough.” She tried to reason. She didn’t see the point in having another animal. Jaq required so little care whereas a puppy would need training. And neither she nor Franky was home often enough for that. 

“But, Gidget!” Franky didn’t realize how much like her little sister she sounded in that moment. “Jaq hates my guts. I walk in the room and he scampers off. And she’s sooo cute.” She reasoned in her own defense. “How can you tell those cute puppy dog eyes no? I promise I’ll take care of her. I’ll train her.” She nodded, eyes flickering to see Athena now sitting at the patio door staring in at the two women, her tail wagging in excitement.

Bridget sighed, arms folded over her chest and looked down. Franky knew she’d won. A bright grin spread across her features.

“I can’t ever tell you no, can I?” Franky excitedly wrapped Bridget up in her arms, hugging her was if Bridget had just given her the best news.

“Oh, thank you baby!” She squealed, setting the blonde back down. She moved past Bridget and opened the patio door letting Athena back inside. “Her name’s Athena.” She told the blonde.

“You named her already?” Bridget quirked a brow, glancing down at the dog that weaved between her own legs, snuffing at her pants and shoes.

“I already knew you’d say yes.” Was Franky response as she knelt down to scratch at Athena’s ears, drawing her attention away from Bridget for right now.

“She’s not allowed not he furniture, yea?”

Franky nodded, but leaned closer into the dog. “She lets the stinky old cat on the furniture, we’ll just be sneaky.” She whispered conspiratorially. Bridget merely rolled her eyes and set about making herself a plate of food.

It would be another week before Bridget noticed the missing vase and though Franky refused to admit the dog had done it, Bridget would blame Athena.


	6. Answers Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridget finally answers Franky's question.  
> A continuation of chapter 4.
> 
> TW: Mentions of rape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up. With the 4th of July approaching, I've been busy planning my own party as well as attending other's. 
> 
>  
> 
> TW: Mentions of rape

The paralegal woke to sun light streaming through the front windows. She groaned softly, shifting in an attempt to get comfortable on the less than comfortable surface, but her movements froze when she felt the warmth at her back. She looked down to the weight over her waist to find a milky colored arm resting over her, fingers disappearing under the hem of the t shirt she’d put on when… when she’d come home the day before. Franky frowned for a moment as the events of the prior day and night came flooding back. She’d been released on time served for charges of breaking and entering and escape from prison, the murder charges having been dropped. Bridget had brought her home… she’d nearly broke down. Nuh. She couldn’t understand why the psychologist wanted her close.

Franky held her breath as she gently removed the arm from around her waist. She shifted her own weight off of the lounge they had both apparently fallen asleep on. Laying Bridget’s arm on the space she’d just vacated, she grabbed a throw and laid it over the still sleeping woman. She swore Bridget was able to sleep through the strangest things, the bright rays of the sun being one of them. But the second the sun rose high enough to stream through the window and into her face, Franky was up.

Franky stood from the ground where she’d settled herself. She needed to get away and think. A quick glance at the clock on the stove showed her it was just after six in the morning. She rubbed her eyes and made her way into the kitchen to start the Keurig to make herself some coffee while she tried to decide what to do. She could go to the grocery, get something to make for breakfast. Nah. She wasn’t hungry. Setting a mug onto the coffee machine, she popped a pod into the right place and pressed the correct button for the coffee mug. Her hands fell to the counter, resting on the granite counter top. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Maybe she’d go for a run? That might work. Yea, that’d have to do.

The paralegal glanced at the coffee and, having decided it’d be another couple of minutes, turned to head down the hallway and to their…. no, Bridget’s room to change. She couldn’t call it her room when she still blamed herself for everything that had happened. She tossed a glance to the couch, unable to see the sleeping blonde she knew lay there.

She looked away once more as she moved for the bedroom, but froze mid step when her eyes drifted out over the back yard. “Fuck me.” She muttered, there in the corner of the backyard, stood her longboard. Had Bridget really left it outside for the entire winter? She ran her fingers through think hair and moved her trajectory to the patio door. Flicking the lock, she slid the door opened and quickly moved across the grass in bare feet to grab the heavy piece of wood. A quick look over told her, it seemed to have survived. Thankfully the winter had been mild and the days had only just begun warming back up. Fuck a run, she’d go down to the beach, granted that’d be a much longer trip.

Her coffee sat forgotten, as she scribbled a note on a piece of paper. ‘Went out to Bell’s Beach.-F’ The note was left on the center table in the living room, folded so Bridget would notice it. She left the house with much on her mind.

 

* * *

 

The hour and a half drive from Fitzroy to Bell’s Beach was relaxing for the brunette. It was nice to be behind the wheel of a car even if it was her own ten year old Honda and not the Porche Bridget kept in the garage unless they were going out. She’d driven with the windows down, the morning air brisk against her face. It’d be a chilly surf, especially as spring turned to summer, but she’d manage.

Arriving at the beach, Franky found a space in the car park and turned the engine off. Stepping out of the car, she quickly pulled the tank over her head and tossed it into the passenger seat. She turned her gaze to the ocean, relaxing further at the sound of waves washing up onto the shore. She pulled her hair into a quick and messy ponytail and set about unstrapping the board from the top of her car. The foam and ropes thrown towards the same place as her shirt. It was all haphazardly done, little care given in her hurry to get to the one thing she was sure could ease her stress.

 

* * *

Bridget woke not long after Franky left, the space beside her becoming increasingly cold. She had sat up with a groan, twisting her neck one way then the other to relieve the tension that had built there over night, creaking a knot in her neck that was unpleasant to say the least. Where had Franky gone, she wondered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The house was quiet, too quiet for Franky to be doing much if she was home. Bridget yawned, stretching her back as she did so then moved to stand up. Her eyes caught sight of the folded piece of paper on the table and she quickly snatched it up, falling back into the cushions of the lounge. 

The psychologist glanced at the clock and raised a brow. 7:30 in the morning and Franky was already on her way to Bell’s Beach. A frown fell over tired features. Why was Franky leaving so early. Of course Bell’s Beach had been a favorite for her girl to go to surf. But at this bloody early of an hour? Her hands dropped, one tossing the note onto the coffee table and the other falling into her lap. She groaned as she pushed off the lounge and went about getting dressed to follow the younger woman.

* * *

 

Franky sat atop her board, one leg dangling into the water on either side of the board. The first half an hour had been spent shivering. She’d never been a fan of wetsuits so her bikini top and swim shorts were all that covered her slim frame. The cold had vanished, or she’d just forgotten about it. More than likely the latter. The twenty degree day in late November meant the water was probably somewhere around ten or twelve degrees. The weather wouldn’t likely warm too much more, she was sure despite not knowing the time. She had long ago lost track of time.

Her hair stuck to her face where it had fallen from its pony tail. Franky wiped at it as she tossed a glance over her shoulder at the movement in the water. Sure enough a swell of water was coming at her from behind. The paralegal waited and watched until just the right moment, her hands pressed into the grain of the board and she pushed her weight up onto her feet, crouching until she was sure her balance matched that of the water and she slowly rose away from the wood.

The feel of the ocean underneath her, her body shifted fractions of a millimeter to match the way her board moved underneath her. Her eyes glanced to the shore, gauging how long until the swell died. The instant distraction of a petite blonde standing on her own, arms crossed over her chest as she hugged a jacket close, caused Franky to loose her focus. She fell, disappearing under the water, her board following for a fraction of a second before popping back up to the surface, the swell having past them by as it approached the shore and died out.

 

* * *

 

Bridget had arrived at the beach nearly an hour after Franky. She’d parked next to the familiar silver Honda and made her way out to the sand, her flats hooked over her index and middle fingers. There was a slight breeze and it couldn’t be above twenty or twenty-one degrees. The psychologist was glad for the light jacket she’d chosen to bring as the ocean air rolled up the coast.

She found a spot, just outside the reach of the waves and dropped her shoes. Her arms fell over her chest, trying to keep as much warmth as was possible within her thin body. Franky was easy to find, there only being two other’s on the water and Franky being the only one not in a wetsuit. She laughed softly to herself, rolling her eyes at her girl’s stubbornness. The water must be absolutely cold, but Franky insisted on wearing less than enough. She claimed it restricted her ability to move. Bridget just saw it as an excuse to show off her toned body. A toned body Bridget was now admiring as her girl’s strong form moved with expertise to ride the swell of water that came at her. 

Bridget’s breath caught a moment later when Franky disappeared suddenly under the water, her board coming up seconds before her. The older woman didn’t release that breath until Franky surfaced again. Bridget watched carefully as water was thrown every which way as the brunette shook her hair from her eyes. Relief washed over the blonde as tattooed arms reached onto the board and pulled herself back onto it. Bridget always worried when Franky insisted on surfing, but she’d never stop the younger woman from something she enjoyed.

 

* * *

 

Franky looked over her shoulder once sitting atop her board again. She had half a mind to turn around and paddle back out to wait on another swell to catch. But the ocean was calm, the surf not too great this time of year and just over a week after the full moon. It’d be another several days before the tides were right again. She sighed heavily, pushing wet hair from her eyes and leaned down to paddle her way back to shore. She couldn’t keep avoiding this and she knew it, no matter how much her heart just told her to return to the cool grasp of the water.

 

* * *

 

Bridget moved down the shoreline to meet Franky, a chill running up her spine as the water danced over her toes and up to her ankles.

Franky slid off the board with a few meters left to go. She tucked the board under her arm as she walked the rest of the way. She passed Bridget with a quick glance. Finding the blonde’s shoes, she stooped to grab them as she continued her trek up the sand to where she’d left her towel. She dropped her board onto the sand and then quickly followed suit, falling without an ounce of grace onto the sand beside her towel.

The blonde sighed and followed behind Franky, raising a brow as Franky found herself in the sand instead of her towel. Her unspoken questioned was answered when Franky nodded to the vacant towel beside her. Bridget had half a mind to tell Franky it was her towel and the psychologist herself could sit in the sand, but she knew Franky wouldn’t stand for it. She moved down to the towel, her knees hitting the soft cloth that covered the sand before the blonde turned to sit on her bottom. Bridget and Franky were both quiet, their eyes cast towards the ocean. The blonde planned to let Franky speak first. It was rarely a good idea to push the younger woman, especially when something was bothering her.

That plan was quickly abandoned however, when more than ten minutes passed in silence. “Franky…” It was little more than a whisper, barely audible above the crashing of the waves against the near by cliffs. “Baby girl, talk to me.” She reached over and with delicate fingers, pulled Franky closer by her hand, wrapping her arm around the brunette’s frame.

Franky leaned into her girlfriend, craving her touch though her mind told her that wasn’t the best idea. She had assaulted the blonde, but she wasn’t initiating the contact. Bridget wanted to know what was wrong, Franky knew that much, but she didn’t feel like talking. She leaned her head against the smaller woman’s shoulder and sighed as she stared at the waves. “Ya, never answered my question last night Gidge.” Franky finally spoke. She sniffed and brushed her hair from where it stuck to her face. 

Bridget had been expecting that. Or at least something along those lines. She sighed gently, but kept her arm around the younger woman. “What? Why I knew you wouldn’t have raped me?” Franky’s silence told her she was right on the money. The hand not around the brunette to her side reached up to brush through short locks, a nervous reaction more than it was needed. She wasn’t keen to dig up these memories.

Bridget took a deep breath before beginning. “I knew you wouldn’t have followed through mainly because you love me.” She paused for a moment. “You were trying to scare me, intimidate me. I’d seen it a hundred thousand times before from… from people.” Inmates, but she knew from experience using the term, even if it had been true at the time, wouldn’t go over well with the emotionally fragile woman. She turned to bury her nose in wet, brunette hair, taking in the scent of her love mixed with that of the salt water.

“But it’s more than that Franky…” She trailed off, turning to gaze back out over the horizon of the ocean. “You know I’ve worked at several prisons over that last twenty years.” The paralegal gave a small nod, utterly silent as she listened, a knot forming in her stomach with an idea where this may be going. “I’ve worked all over the state, in men’s and women’s prisons. Everywhere from minimum to high security.”

Franky knew all of this. She and Bridget had talked about Bridget’s work history once or twice. So it was no surprise. She gave a small nod again, still not speaking.

“Before I started at Wentworth I worked in private practice for a few years. And before that at a men’s prison.” Bridget decided against naming Port Phillip Prison, feeling it was better for Franky not to know the detail with her penchant for poor self control. “There was a session with a prisoner. He was doing great and had petitioned for parole.” She paused, her tongue running over her lips, her mouth feeling suddenly dry. “But his parole was denied and he blamed me. I don’t know why, but he did. And there… there was this hatred in his eyes.”

Franky sat up, away from her lover. She turned cool blue eyes to the blonde, studying her features. She could tell that though Bridget’s eyes were focused on the water, she was somewhere else. She wrapped her scooted closer to the psychologist and pulled her close, swallowing hard against the lump forming in her throat to match the knot in her stomach. She had been absolutely correct in her assumptions.

Bridget’s eyes closed, taking comfort in the strong arms wrapped around her. “He… uh, he cornered me in my office. Put a shiv to my throat.” Her words were devoid of emotion, quite obviously having pushed the memories away rather than dealing with and overcoming them. Bridget was always so emotionally strong. Hearing the pain that so obviously worked its way into her words, even as they were carried out in such a flat manner, make Franky feel physically ill. “He… He…” Franky shook her head as the blonde seemed to choke on her words, the emotions falling through her words as she let out a soft sob.

“Nah, Gidge. You don’t have to.” She muttered, her hand coming up to press against the opposite side of her lover’s head, holding her close to her heart that ached for her girl. “You don’t have to say it.” She frowned, kissing the top of Bridget’s head, inhaling the scent of jasmine and vanilla that was so obviously her girl. It was Franky’s turn to be strong, but damn it, she felt like punching a wall… or bashing someone’s face in.

“Despite your anger at me Franky… You had never looked at me that way. Not even when you were trying to intimidate me, not even when you had me backed into a corner.” Bridget finally spoke after what felt like an eternity, pulling away just enough to look up at her girl. “That’s how I knew you weren’t going to go through with it.”

* * *

 

They sat in silence for a long while, Bridget wrapped up in Franky’s arms, Franky refusing to let her go. The only sound that of the ocean and the few stray birds that swooped occasionally too close. Finally, as the day began to warm and then surf gained a bit more traction with the incoming storm causing the beach to be entirely too crowded for the two lovers’ liking, they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I do love to hear feedback and comments.


	7. Australia Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh.... domestic fluff? 
> 
> A small get together to celebrate Australia Day at the Westfall-Doyle residence. 
> 
> A quick one shot. 
> 
> Again, I'd like to point out I am not Australian. So all my knowledge of the day comes from the grand source of Google.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have just recently learned that fireworks are illegal in Australia unless you are a licensed pyro-technician.... so again.... forgive my American-ness. I never thought to look up if fireworks were legal in Australia since they are legal in the US.

26 January, it was Australia Day and though they weren’t far from the beach or even downtown Melbourne, the two had decided to stay home. They’d invited Franky’s dad and sister over for a barbecue and fireworks once the sun went down. But that was the end to their grand plans. The two were currently sat on the back patio, enjoying fresh lemonade Franky had made that morning, when the sound of the doorbell alerted both Franky and Bridget to the fact that their two guests had arrived

Bridget was the first to react, making a move to stand, but Franky shook her head. “Nah, I’ll get it.” She smiled. “You sure?” Franky gave a quick nod, using her hands on the arm rests of her chair to push herself to a standing position. “Probably just Tess and Da.” At least they weren’t expecting anyone else. Bridget watched, a gentle smile on her face, as Franky disappeared into the house, one hand supporting her back as she walked.

Franky’s hand fell to the door knob. “Oh, there’s my favorite girl!” Tess threw herself at her sister as soon as the door opened. “I’m just going to take this to the kitchen.” Alan held a bag up as he stepped into the house behind the seven year old. Franky nodded as she picked her sister up, adjusting her onto her hip. “When’s the baby gonna get out?” Tess whined causing Franky to chuckle as she followed her father towards the kitchen. “May, four more months then you’ll have to share me.” Franky wrinkled her nose, sitting her sister down to take off into the back yard to find Bridget. “Its okay if she’s cute.” Tess called as she disappeared onto the patio with a squeal of “Bridgie!”

“What’d you bring? Smells…” Franky paused, eyeing the bag her father was unpacking. “I’m trying to decide between delicious and revolting.” Her father laughed softly. “Meat pies, chiko rolls and lamington.” He paused and watched the uneasy expression on his eldest’s face. “Go outside, I’ll get this stuff warmed up and ready. Ginger ale helps.” He didn’t miss the expression of relief that washed over Franky’s face as she stepped over to kiss his cheek and then followed in the foot steps of the youngest of the Doyle’s.

Stepping out onto the patio, Franky closed the sliding glass door behind her to keep the heat of the day out. “Hey Bridgie.” She smirked, resuming her seat next to her wife. “Okay, your sister’s cute.” Bridget commented with a roll of her eyes, but the brunette saw a ghost of a smile over her lips. “Ah, come on, Gidge. Ya don’t think I’m cute?”

“Not near as cute as her.” The blonde chuckled, blue eyed gaze averting to the smaller brunette trying to get their brown and white dog to fetch the stick she kept throwing.

“Well… I suppose she is pretty cute.” Franky answered, grabbing a bright pink ball that lay abandoned next to her seat. “Tess, I think the dog’s supposed to be chasing the stick, not you.” She laughed, tossing the ball in her hand. Athena’s ears perked and she took off after it, grabbing it with a wagging tail and taking it to the child calling her name.

Bridget and Franky sat in a comfortable quiet as Tess and the dog played and Franky’s father worked in the kitchen. The two women knew better than to offer any assistance to the eldest of the Doyles, knowing he’d only shoo them off. They were being kind enough to have he and Tess over, the least he could do was cook, or so he’d claim.

* * *

Darkness had fallen over the suburb of Fitzroy. The three adults sat around the patio while Tess, never seeming to run out of energy, ran around the back yard a sparkler in hand and a dog chasing after her. Amicable chatter had been shared between the three as dinner was served and devoured, well except in Franky’s case. She’d barely eaten much, sticking to the fruit she and Bridget and cut up before their guests arrived. Nothing else seemed appealing. 

“When can we have fireworks?” Tess’s voice cut through the idle adult chatter as yet another sparkler went out. The child trudged over to the adults and dropped the charred stick into the trash bin. 

“Well I suppose we could now that it’s dark enough, Tessabug.” Alan spoke as he stood from his chair.

“YAY!” Came the squeal of the youngest of the small group. “Can we lay in the grass, Franky?”

 

Five minutes later saw a blanket spread across the lawn, three forms sprawled in various positions over its surface, while the fourth among them set about getting the first of the array of fireworks set up.

“What are you gonna name the baby?” Tess’s voice spoke up, raising her head from her sister’s small protruding stomach to look at her sister and her sister’s wife.

“We haven’t chosen yet.” Franky shrugged, looking up the blonde who’s lap her head rested in.

“I think you should name her Cinderella!” Both Bridget and Franky laughed softly.

“We’ll think about it okay, Tess.” Bridget offered to which the tiny brunette nodded.

 

Fireworks were being set off, lighting the night sky with colors. Reds, blues, yellow and white. Even a few purples and greens, all danced across the dark sky creating various patterns and shapes, some just exploding into a ball of color. Tess giggled and clapped, Bridget and Franky shared loving glances.

Suddenly Tess sat up with a gasp, Franky glancing down to the younger version of herself. “That one was really pretty, huh?” Franky asked, her expression turning from a smile to one of puzzlement when Tess shook her head.

“Everything okay?” Their father asked, turning his attention to his daughters and daughter-in-law.

“Nu-uh! I think something’s in your belly trying to get Cinderella!” Tess exclaimed.

Franky burst out laughing and pulled Tess close. She’d felt the baby moving about, but hadn’t realized her sister would be able to feel the tossing and turning of the growing infant. “Nah Tess, the baby’s just moving.” She continued to giggle.

“Wait, you can feel her kick?” This time it was Bridget who spoke up, shifting to immediately place a hand on the growing bulge that was her wife’s stomach.

Franky thought the look of disappointment on Bridget’s face was adorable when she didn’t immediately feel any movement. “Nuh, over here.” She moved the tanned fingers with her own to rest where she’d last felt movement. Bridget’s face lit up as a little limb nudged her hand.

“So nothin’ is trying to eat the baby?” Tess asked, eyes still wide.

“No, Tessabug. Nothing is going to eat Cinderella.” Alan chimed in, having moved to see what the ruckus was about.

“Okay, then fireworks, Daddy!” The seven year old pointed to the remaining fireworks.

And so, with a chuckle, Alan returned to the fireworks. The girls oohed and ahhed, though Franky wondered how many of her wife’s murmurs of excitement were for the fireworks and which were for the constant moving under her fingers.

The fireworks eventually came to an end. Tess had fallen asleep snuggled into Franky’s side, apparently still too freaked out to lay her head back on her sister’s stomach. Alan gathered the little girl in his arms, Bridget helping Franky up from the lawn. The two women helped their guests to the door, Bridget returning to the kitchen to let her wife say goodbye to her father and sister.

“I like Cinderella.” Alan teased, shifted a still sleeping Tess in his arms and kissing his eldest’s cheek.

“Yea I don’t think so, Da. You sure you don’t want to take the leftovers home?” The brunette offered. Bridget could be heard getting stuff put away.

“Nah, you two keep ‘em. Love ya, kid.”

“Love you too, Da. Be safe going home, kay.” Franky held the door open for her father, smiling as she watched him carry Tess out to his car.

Had someone told her seven years ago that she’d not only be pregnant, but telling her dad she loved him, she’d have laughed in their face. She wouldn’t have been able to decide which aspect was more hilarious at the time. But Franky wouldn’t change it for the world. She loved her life, despite her many stuff ups. The brunette watched in silence as the tail lights disappeared down the road before shutting the door and returning to her wife’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love hearing your thoughts.


	8. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after 6x03. 
> 
> Franky has an interesting use for ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry an update has taken so long. I've been on holiday and honestly this wasn't what I had planned for this chapter. I'm on holiday for another week, so it'll probably be another week or so before another update.

Franky lay, covered in a sheen of sweat, a soft sheet draped around her waist, her torso exposed to the slightly chilled air. It was to early in the autumn to turn the heat on, so a chill hung in the air in the wee hours of the morning. Bridget had disappeared just a moment ago to gather a glass of ice water.

_‘Let me make love to you.’ It was Bridget’s voice as she wrapped her arms around Franky’s waist from behind, pressing a kiss to her spine. Franky shivered at the contact, the touch of pebbled nipples pressing into her back. Topaz eyes found sapphire in the mirror where Franky brushed her teeth. She didn’t hesitate to rinse her mouth and drop her toothbrush beside the sink. How could she ever say no to an offer like that?_

And Franky had let Bridget do just that, surrendering herself as she had done only for Bridget, only with Bridget. She was still rather limp, her muscles refusing to do much more than just lay there in sated bliss.

It had been nearly a month since she’d seen all her charges dropped. A month filled with doctors visits, physical therapy sessions, pain meds, tears, great joys, serious conversations and much more light hearted ones. A month that was the beginning of a new lease on life for the former inmate. She had changed her registered address, officially moved in with Bridget, and gotten the promise her job would be waiting as soon as she was healed and ready.

Bridget reentered the room, pulling Franky out of her thoughts at the entrance of her naked lover. She pushed herself up to rest her back against the pillows, ignoring the tightness in her shoulder to the best of her ability. Bridget moved to the bed, handing Franky the glass of water and slipping into bed beside Franky. The brunette sipped from the cold water easily. She let the glass rest against the bed beside her leg, her fingers wrapping around the top to keep it from spilling as Bridget slipped under the covers and rested her head on her shoulder. They stayed like that in an easy quiet for several long moments, giving Franky time to recover from the glorious climax she intended to return.

Steely eyes watched the ice dance in the glass for a moment, her mind formulating an idea. She sipped from the glass again before setting it on the bedside table. She shifted, Bridget moved over to lay against her own pillows. Franky smirked, that was exactly what she’d wanted. She leaned up onto her elbow, once again ignoring the twinge of tightness in her shoulder. Her gaze fixated on Bridget who offered up a bright smile before trying to put on a mask of seriousness. 

“Franky, your shoulder.” Cobalt eyes looked pointedly to the pink, angry skin that had formed over what had at one point been a bullet wound.

Franky shrugged her good shoulder and leaned in to kiss the psychologist before she could protest further. A little tightness in her shoulder was the least of her worries at this point. Her mind was focused on something much more appealing, the blonde now partially underneath her. Their lips parted only when the need for air caused Franky’s lungs to burn. She was quick to trail a line of kisses across the blonde’s jaw, nipping at a creamy earlobe, relishing in the sharp gasp the action elicited. “Don’t care ‘bout it.” She whispered. “You’re much more enticing.” Her lips found the blonde’s again in a searing kiss.

Franky sat up a little fuller, smiling mischievously down at her lover. “Close your eyes.” She whispered.

“What? Why..?” Came Bridget’s breathless reply, her chest heaving slightly from lack of breath.

“You trust me?” Franky waited a beat, seeing the answer written clearly across her lover’s face. “Just… close your eyes.” She murmured. “Keep them closed.” Bridget gave a barely perceptible nod of her head.

When sky blue disappeared behind delicate eyelids, a smirk fell over Franky’s lips. She leaned over to retrieve the glass of water. A sip of the icy water had Franky pulling an ice cube into her mouth. As quietly as she could, she sat the glass back on the bedside table and moved to straddle Bridget, resting her still overheated center against Bridget’s stomach earning a groan from both women. Seeing eyes begin to open, Franky shook her head, humming an ‘uh-uh’ to her girl. Warm blue eyes quickly clenched shut again.

Franky smirked. She could read the anticipation written clearly over her lover’s entire body. She stroked fingers gently over Bridget’s neck, down her collarbone, between the valley of her breasts. She watched the way Bridget’s chest swelled and paused before letting the breath of air go, Franky watching her every reaction. Nothing was more beautiful for the brunette. She leaned down, those same fingers moving up her love’s arms, pushing creamy arms up to rest above blonde locks.

Franky grinned, nuzzling Bridget’s neck, breathing in her scent. She’d never take such simple things for granted again. She placed a kiss there, to the pale neck with slightly chilled lips. Her whole mouth felt frozen from the ice cube, but just like the subtle ache in her shoulder, she ignored it. She trailed a line of kisses down the psychologist’s neck, over her collarbone, following the same trail her fingers had just seconds before taken. But when Franky’s lips reached the valley of her girl’s breasts, she pulled away, diverting her lips a puckered nipple. A gentle kiss and then Franky sucked the nub between her lips.

Bridget gasped at the icy sensation her nipple was greeted with, having expected the warmth she normally felt. Her back arched, her hand flying to grab at the back of Franky’s head, at her glorious hair. She found the urge to open her eyes, to look at her Franky, as the cold was suddenly gone. It was quickly replaced on her other breast, her other pebbled nipple being sucked into her lover’s cold mouth. It was such a different sensation, but god, it felt delightful. She shivered, finally peaking blue hues open to catch a glimpse of her lover.

Franky felt eyes on her and peered up from under long lashes. Her eyes glinted with happiness as she quirked a brow, smirking as Bridget’s eyes snapped shut again. She released the nipple from her mouth. Snagging the ice cube, what remained of it, between her lips with her teeth, she kissed her way down the center of her girl’s body. Between breasts, over ribs and down a toned stomach. Icy, wet kisses were left in her wake, raising goose flesh over her lover’s skin.

“Franky…” Came a breathy whisper. Cool blue eyes found bright blue. She left the fracture of ice in her lover’s belly button. She knew what her lover wanted, needed. And so it was with a million watt smirk, that Franky moved further down, settling between tanned thighs.

The brunette lifted one thigh over her shoulder, placing a still chilled kiss to the blonde’s inner thigh. A shiver ran down Bridget’s thigh, an almost silent whimper escaping her lips. Franky shifted, lifting the other thigh over her arm to match the first and without further warning or preamble, ran her tongue flat along the length of her love’s slit. Bridget gasped, the last vestiges of icy coolness flitting over overheated skin. Franky moaned, her lover’s taste dancing over her every taste bud.

Bridget had been insistent with Franky resting. It had been a trying time for them both; Franky wanting nothing more than to touch her girl, to taste her, and Bridget craving Franky’s touch but worrying to much about her injury.

It didn’t take much for Franky to push Bridget over that edge she toed so fine. Her lips suckled around a swollen bundle of nerves, her fingers buried deep within a heated moisture. Bridget had came; her fingers buried in dark locks, her midsection tense, her eyes screwed shut. The brunette worked her blonde lover through her orgasm, fingers curling and lips suckling gently. She only let up when she knew Bridget was well and spent.

Franky lazed up her lover’s body, smirking as she laid on her side, propping herself up to rest on her hand. The twinge in her shoulder was forgotten, lost in the bliss she felt at bringing the blonde to and over the edge of climax.

“Welcome back to earth, gorgeous.” She teased when bright blue eyes opened to meet grey-blue. Franky chuckled as a tanned hand swatted at her. She laid back and pulled Bridget into her arms, kissing the top of her head. “I love you…” She whispered after several seconds of easy silence. 

“I love you too.” Came the soft response, a blonde head lifting to look at her brunette lover. “How’s your shoulder?” Franky could see the worry written over Bridget’s features.

“It’s fine Gidge. Now lay back down and relax. I think we both need it.” In truth, as she relaxed, her shoulder began to bother her, but she wouldn’t ruin the moment.

Bridget gave a simple nod and relaxed back into Franky’s arms, laying her head against her love’s chest. They both dozed rather easily in the warmth and comfort the other offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I value any and all comments and constructive criticism.


	9. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Alan Doyle and his daughter, Franky were close when she was little. He is the one that started the cooking bug in a young Franky Doyle. It was the one thing she held on to after all those years of hatred fueled by abandonment, Mike’s show a subconscious last ditch effort to gain her father’s attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the language in this one.... I've been working on really trying to get into Franky's head.
> 
> This one's also short, sorry for that.

_The smell of bacon wafted through the house, waking a young brunette up. Small feet kicked a blanket off and swung over the side of the bed, hitting soft carpet. Those same small feet padded quickly to the bedroom door in which the petite child opened and hurried out._

_“Daddy! You’re cooking without me!” Huffed the small girl as she hustled into the kitchen._

_“I’m sorry, kiddo. You just looked so peaceful sleeping, I wanted to surprise you. I’m making scones, you wanna help?” Her father asked, moving to set the buttermilk on the counter._

_A grin spread over the girl’s face as she bounded over to her father’s side. “‘Course I wanna help!”_

_Moments later the child was kneeling on the counter, reaching for the flour as her father pulled the rest of the bacon from the frying pan only to replace the meat with eggs. A small smirk spread across the eight-year old’s face as she turned to sit her bottom on the counter. Before her father could react, she had dipped her hand into the flour, gathering a small handful and tossing it at her father’s backside. She burst into a bought of giggles as she slid from the counter and hurried away, the container of flour forgotten on the counter._

_“Francesca, would you sh…” But the sound of her mother’s voice was replaced by a strange blaring noise, causing the girl to pause halfway down the hallway._

* * *

 

The sound of a blaring alarm roused the brunette from her dreams. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, trying to remember what her dream had been about. It took a moment before a frown spread across her features, bits of the subconscious created dream being pulled to the surface.

“Fuck him.” She muttered, reaching over to slap the beeping alarm. It had been thirteen years since the twenty-three year old had seen her father. Thirteen years since Alan Doyle had walked out of her life leaving her, a defenseless ten year old, with the bitch that was her mother. Her mother had been bad before Alan had left, but at least she’d had her dad to protect her. She had waited up too many nights waiting on a man who obviously no longer cared, now she no longer cared. 

 

“Oy, Doyle! Cameras rolling in forty-five. Ya better be up and getting ready.” Came a woman’s voice through the closed and locked door to the room she slept in.

Franky rolled her eyes. Pennisi was growing on her nerves by the day. She wondered why she’d even tried out for the show, having no other answer than something in her subconscious told her to. “Shut it, would ya, I’m up!” She yelled back, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the single bed she slept in. 

* * *

Hours later found her fuming with anger and hatred. Pennisi had torn her a new one. She wasn’t classically training, she didn’t have any training other than those few years with her father whens he was a child and then having to learn to fend for herself. She knew how to cook, her dishes were great and she knew that. But she’d mispronounced a stupid technique. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She told herself. But as if her own self-berating wasn’t bad enough, Mike had torn into her. She knew he was lying, she knew her dish was fabulous, but he’d spat it out. 

She’d been dismissed without a second glance from the television chef. Moving back to stand among the others, she only fumed further. Her anger turning from herself to the man who’d only made things worse for her. Or at least in her own self-sabotaging mind.

She didn’t even recognize her own hand as it reached for the pan of oil she’d previously been using, didn’t recognize her voice as she uttered ‘hey mike’, didn’t recognize her hand as it threw the pan of boiling oil at the object of her anger.

Franky stood motionless, staring at the man as he screamed, feeling not a single shred of remorse. He’d shat on her just like her mother. She didn’t care in that moment if he lived or died, she just knew suddenly she felt minimally better. She may not be able to gain revenge on her mother for the abuse she’d put her through, but by god she’d ensure no one ever shat on her like her mum did again.

* * *

 

As she sat in the back of the police car not long later, she found herself staring out the window, still a shell of emotionlessness. The thought of her father crossed her mind only for a second, a simple _wonder if he’ll care now_ crossing her mind.

“Fuck!” She snapped, kicking the back of the seat in front of her. Fuck, why did her mind do that to her? Her father was just as much of an arse as her mother, abandoning her without a second glance. Why should she care what the fuck he thought? She didn’t. That’s what she told herself. She didn’t give one single fuck about her father and what he thought. Or the man on his way to the hospital with severe burns. Or her mother. Or the foster brother at sixteen. Or the foster father at twelve. Or anyone else who’d ever hurt her. They could all burn for all she gave a fuck.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long ass time. I'm sorry. Hopefully I'm back. 
> 
> This is kind of a turning point for this work, mainly because I don't want to make a new one, I'm focusing on head canons now. That's really what I wanted this to be anyway. Character building, backstory building, etc. We got 5.5 seasons of Franky and don't know much about her background besides a very basic outline. This is my solution.


	10. NYE Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franky surprises Bridget with a trip to Sydney to celebrate the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, pure fluff. Was inspired by an article I saw about Sydney's celebrations including a small little tiny, but huge type. 
> 
> As always, I am not Aussie. I don't know anymore than what I can find by a quick search on Google. Their hotel room is not real, but is loosely based on the SkyHouse on Sydney Harbour. Just smaller and not $8500 a week.... Bridget would shit bricks guys, come on. XD

Franky had surprised Bridget with plane tickets to Sydney the Friday before, telling her girl they’d just have to take a long weekend holiday. She had already cleared it with Imogen and knew Bridget had already planned to take Monday and Tuesday off. It’d been something Franky’d honestly been planning for a while now. Securing the funds to begin with and then the hotel room and plane tickets, reservations and all the planning. She wasn’t sure who was more excited the morning they left, but she’d guess herself even if minimally. She’d never been outside of Victoria, never having the money, being in prison or on parole as her excuses. It was only going to be two days to themselves, having lounged around home and had her family over Saturday for a barbecue, but Monday morning they were on their way.

“Can you at least tell me where we’re staying?” Bridget had asked that morning while waiting for the plane to take off. 

Franky shook her head. “Nuh, I’ll just say on the Harbour.” She shrugged, smirking at the small pout she was given which she quickly kissed away.

————  
An hour and a half later saw them landed and waiting on their luggage, Franky’s arm draped easily around her girl’s waist, keeping her close as she kept an eye out for Bridget’s ridiculous floral print luggage and her own much more reasonable black bag. 

“Now will you tell me?” Bridget piped up just as Franky stepped forward to grab her girl’s bag. 

“I told ya, you’d have to wait and see, Gidge. I believe someone once told me to have patience for the good things in life, I think you should practice that.” Franky teased, waiting as her own bag came around the conveyor and she grabbed it as well. 

“Well that someone takes that back… Come on…” 

Franky laughed softly, finding it completely adorable how insistent Bridget was trying to be, but she wasn’t giving in. “Nope.” Franky replied, miming a zipping motion across her lips. “C’mon Spunky, let’s go get the hired car.” She chuckled, handing Bridget’s bag over and wrapping an arm around the blonde. 

————  
The doors to the elevator opened with a soft ping, revealing the pent house suite to the two lovers. Franky turned to look at her girl, backing her way off the elevator. “Well c’mon then.” She teased, holding a hand out to Bridget who up until that point hadn’t know where they were staying, Franky remaining as tight lipped as she had been earlier that morning. 

“Baby…How much…”  
But Bridget was cut off, “Nuh, don’t worry about it.” Franky shook her head, pulling Bridget into her and kissing her quickly to keep the blonde from protesting further. 

Franky pulled away, releasing her girl’s hand and grabbing her bag instead. “I’ll take these to the bedroom, make a’self at home, Spunky.” She winked and headed across the spacious open living area. 

 

When Franky returned, Bridget was stood staring out one of the floor to ceiling windows. Even from across the suite Franky could see the Harbour glittering in the afternoon sun. Franky watched the blonde quietly for a moment before moving over to her and wrapping her arms around her lover from behind. “Ya know…” Franky whispered, dropping a kiss to the back of Bridget’s exposed shoulder. “I’ll have ya against these windows before the holiday’s over.” 

“Francesca Doyle!” Bridget gasped, turning in the brunette’s arms with a wide smile on her face. “Now I know you wouldn’t risk someone else seeing me, so I’m calling your bluff.” Them both knowing Franky was definitely more possessive of the blonde than vice versa. 

“Gidge, we’re thirty stories up. No one’s gonna see ya.” Franky smirked, gently pushing the blonde back against the wall and kissing her. “Now…” She murmured, “I’m gonna go take a shower to freshen up, if ya wanna join me. We’ve got dinner reservations at eight on the Harbour, but I wanna go see some things first.” 

 

————  
Sightseeing had long since ended, Bridget unable to hide the smile at the childlike nature of her lover all afternoon. She’d even thrown a couple teasing remarks Franky’s way, each of which Franky had brushed off in a teasing remark of her own as she insisted Bridget take pictures. Dinner had come and gone, Bridget telling Franky that the meal might have been better than anything Franky’d ever cooked. Franky’d replied with a roll of her eyes and a playful gasp. 

It was nearing midnight and they were on a private boat, another expense Bridget had tried to chide about, but Franky had shrugged her off. She’d spared no expense for the weekend, that night especially. A bottle of champagne sat to the side, Franky and Bridget sprawled across a shared deck chair, the blonde’s head resting against the brunette’s midsection. 

The two were lost in their own little world, at least until the sound of people chanting somewhere along the shore and on the other boats that dotted the Harbour picked up. Franky’s eyes turned towards the Sydney Harbour Bridge where a count down was displayed, ticking away the last minute of 2018. Sitting up a bit more, Franky sat her glass to join the bottle of champagne inching out from under Bridget and pulling the blonde to her feet. She moved to the side of the ship, fingers interlocked with Bridget’s to stare out at the display. 

10…9…8…7…  
Franky turned to Bridget, resting her backside against the wall of the boat and pulling the blonde into her. She smirked as her hands found the pockets in Bridget’s jeans earning a soft ‘Hey now’ from her lover.   
6…5…4…3…  
“I love ya, Gidget.” She whispered.   
“And I love you too, Baby.” Came the soft response.   
2..  
“Bridget… I was wondering…  
1…  
The sound of thousands of people shouting a collective ‘Happy New Year’ resounded around them, almost drowned out by the sound of fireworks going off behind them, Franky’s eyes falling for a second back to the Sydney Harbour Bridge, distracting her from her train of thought.   
“Oh fuckin’ hell. Happy 2018, Spunky.” Laughing, she quickly pulled Bridget in for a kiss, ringing in the New Year, albeit a year later than Sydney was apparently stuck in. “They stuffed that one up.” Franky couldn’t help but laugh as she pulled away from her girl for just a moment, Bridget’s eyes turning to see the typo displayed for thousands to see.   
“Wondering why it’s 2018 again?” Dark blue eyes turned back to meet steely blue, causing a moment of confusion for the brunette at the blonde’s words.   
“Huh? Oh…” Her eyes finding the display again, a smile coloring her face, “Nuh. I was tryin’ to be romantic and propose at the turn of the clock, but guess I’ll have to wait a year, ey? I meant to do this in 2019…”   
“Wa… wait, what?” 

Franky laughed softly once more, pulling Bridget back into a kiss, her lips melting against the soft tiers of her girl’s. She broke it a moment later, a hand coming up to gently brush a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Bridget Westfall, I love ya and I always will. We’ve been through so much shit and fuck I never expected ya to stick around, but ya did and I love ya all the more for it. You’ve made me a better person. And gosh, I don’t think I could live without ya. Will you do me the great favour of being my wife?” 

Bridget was quiet for a long moment. Franky was ready to backtrack, ready to take it all back, especially when she saw the watery glint in Bridget’s eyes. Franky’s lips parted to tell Bridget never mind, but when Bridget nodded her head and pulled Franky down for a kiss, Franky found herself with misty eyes as well. “Yes…” Bridget whispered when their lips parted even if only for a second. “Course I will, Baby.” Came the next whispered words when they parted to breathe moments later. 

Franky sighed in relief, a smile splitting her face. “God, I fuckin’ love ya.” Franky spoke softly. 

“And I love you too.” Bridget replied, turning her eyes skyward for a moment to see the colorful display of explosions. “So you want to stick around and watch the display or go back and follow through on that previous promise?” Tanned fingers slid up Franky’s toned stomach as the blonde spoke just barely loud enough to be heard over the celebrations. 

It took Franky a moment to realize exactly what Bridget was talking about. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” Franky reluctantly pulled away from her girl and moved over to the door that’d lead down to the captain’s quarters of the small boat. “Hey, can ya take us back to dock?” She called down before returning to her girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and feedback are always welcome.


	11. Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a time line to kind of give perspective of when things are happening and to keep my thoughts in order. This will be edited and added too as I post more chapters. 
> 
> This is all tentative. It's also based a lot around the fact Franky's bday in canon is May 2, 1987 and she was 29 in canon when she escaped from prison. It's based on what kind of clothing they are wearing on the show, on what I have researched in regards to Melbourne weather year round, etc. Nothing other than May 2, 1987 and the fact Franky escaped sometime between May 2, 2016 and May 1, 2017 is canon date wise. 
> 
> This is really just for me, in all honesty.

May 5, 1987 - Francesca "Franky" Doyle born to Alan & Charlotte Doyle.  
July 17, 1997 - Alan Doyle leaves, effectively abandoning Franky when Charlotte refuses to let him take her.  
August 11, 1998 - Franky removed from mother's care for the first time when Charlotte is sentenced to three months for a DUI.  
February 27, 1999 - Franky returned to mother's care after Charlotte completes prison sentence and alcohol abuse program.  
May 6, 1999 - Franky removed for final time from mother's care when broken arm is deemed the result of child abuse.  
September 8, 2010 - Franky Doyle arrested for aggravated assault after throwing boiling oil on Mike Pennisi - Chapter 9  
February 26, 2012 - Tessa Doyle born to Alan & Sienna Doyle.  
April 22, 2012 - Sienna Doyle dies as a result of complications resulting from an automobile accident.  
October 23, 2014 - Franky Doyle released on parole, takes up living with Bridget Westfall.  
April 14, 2015 - Franky & Tessa Doyle meet for the first time  
Fall to Winter of 2015 - Franky begins to spend more time with her sister - Chapter 1  
February 20, 2016 - Franky Doyle arrested for murder of Mike Pennisi  
March 30, 2016 - Franky has continually pushed away at Bridget leading up to her assault on Bridget in her cell - Chapter 2  
August 17, 2016 - Franky Doyle escapes from Wentworth Correctional Facility.  
August 21, 2016 - Franky Doyle shot while on the run, calls Bridget for help  
August 23, 2016 - Franky Doyle found in Iman Farrah's storage unit  
August 24, 2016 - All charges dropped against Franky Doyle  
August 25, 2016 - Discussions are had between Bridget Westfall & Franky Doyle in regards to the assault in Franky's cell - Chapter 4  
August 26, 2016 - Franky goes to surf to cope and get away - Chapter 6  
March 23, 2017 - An adventurous Franky Doyle has an interesting use for ice - Chapter 8  
December 31, 2018 - January 1, 2019 - Sydney hosts possibly the worst typo of the year, Bridget and Franky get engaged - Chapter 10  
January 26, 2020 - Franky & Bridget host a barbecue for Australia Day - Chapter 7

 

 

Alternate Universe/Canon divergent dates:  
May 18, 2015 - A dog follows Franky home - Chapter 5  
September 1, 2016 - Acquittal of charges against Franky Doyle in regards to the murders of Mike Pennisi & Iman Farrah, sentencing of time served for escape from WCC - Chapter 3


End file.
